


Lost and Found

by RunningErrands



Series: Sterek in the Fallout Universe [1]
Category: Fallout 4, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ghoul!Stiles, M/M, Memory Den, Prompt Fic, Reunions, Vault-Dweller!Derek, self hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningErrands/pseuds/RunningErrands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:</p>
<p>"How about Pre-war, Derek and Stiles were together - but only one of them got chosen to be in Vault 111 ('cause cryogenics). Whoever wasn't accepted into the vault became a ghoul, and 200-something years later they don't know if the other is even still alive, when bam! they are reunited! It would be interesting to see how they react to seeing each other, especially since one is now a ghoul..."  -daiowl</p>
<p>Knowledge of Fallout 4 isn't really needed, but it might enhance the story.  :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> So, since I got such a great note from daiowl, I decided that this fic needed to happen, especially since I really, really love writing about Stiles and Derek in the Fallout 4 universe. :) I hope I filled this prompt fairly well! :)

           210 years. Stiles took another swig of the whisky in his hand. 210 years ago, plus some odd days and hours, the bombs had fallen. That made it about 209 years since he had officially been deemed a “ghoul.” His hair was gone, not that it mattered much to Stiles. He had always kept it short anyways. He looked pretty good compared to some of the other pre-war ghouls. He still had most of his skin, despite the fact that it was marred with countless scars and open wounds. His eyes were still more yellow than red. Then there was the fact that he hadn’t descended into insanity and begun killing innocent people. That had to count for something, right? Still, Stiles had never really counted himself “lucky.” He had lost something far more dear than his hair, skin, nails, and mind. He’d lost his lover.

            Before the bombs fell, he had been in a relationship with just about the most attractive man in the entirety of Boston. He had rock hard abs, a strong, stubble laden jawline, and eyes that looked like they held entire ecosystems. Derek was a veteran while Stiles was just the son of the local Sheriff, working at the Library to make a meager living. Really, it wasn’t surprising that Derek had been offered a spot in a Vault while he hadn’t. Stiles didn’t laugh at the irony of it all. The one of them who had been offered safety was the one who was now dead.

            Derek had tried to fight it. He had tried to get Stiles a spot in the Vault. He’d fought so hard, spending hours on the phone with Vault-tech, until they finally agreed. Or they said they did anyways.

            Then the day the bombs fell. Stiles had been cleaning up breakfast when Derek had called him from their living room. They watched on television as the anchor stumbled through his broadcast, announcing that the bombs were well on their way.

            They made their way to the Vault, elbowing through their neighbors to get to their rightful spot. Trouble found them at the gate though when a man announced that Stiles didn’t have clearance for the vault.

            Derek argued, but Stiles knew what was going to happen. He had pleaded with Derek. “Go get the spot ready. I’ll go grab the papers we got in the mail. I’m sure my name’s on them somewhere.” He had given Derek a weak smile, ignoring the blatant lie that had just fallen from his lips. “I’ll meet you there in less than five minutes. I promise.” Stiles kissed Derek quickly but lovingly. Derek hesitated, but was pushed toward the vault by a man and his wife and child as they tried to get to safety.

            Stiles took a couple steps backward, watching as Derek made his way to the vault’s entrance. Stiles waved as Derek stepped onto the platform, turning to run back to the house.

            That was when the first bomb hit.

            The sound was outrageous. It made Stiles turn immediately, eyes widening as he took in the cloud rising from the distant impact. Stiles had turned his eyes to Derek immediately, his heart breaking as he watched his lover struggle against a security guard in power armor who kept him on the platform as it descended. Stiles had thanked God for that. He had thought, “at least Derek will survive” as he felt the radioactive gust from the impact hit him, knocking him backward and onto the ground.

            Even though Stiles knew he had been exposed to too much radiation, he let himself be led into one of the public blast shelters, figuring that it couldn’t hurt. He was surprised when he lived through the month without signs of radiation poisoning at all. Then, about two months later, it all started. He lost his hair, his nails, bits of his skin flaking off. He was becoming a ghoul.

            He had let it all happen at the time. He didn’t know why he had decided to keep attempting to live, but he did. And he made it. 210 years he made it, working to keep other ghouls alive, then once the vaults started releasing people, he helped them too. He helped them build entire cities, just to be shut out of them when they were finished, deemed “unhuman.”

            Stiles sighed, setting down the empty whisky bottle and just stared at the ceiling of the Memory Den. He didn’t do it often, but occasionally he would come to the den to remember Derek. His firm arms around Stiles in a hug, the smell of him right after he had showered and shaved, the exact shade of his eyes, his voice…

            Stiles sat up, opening the memory pod and climbing out. He could have sworn...

            He approached Irma hesitantly, looking around. He didn’t feel dizzy, but he could have sworn that he had heard Derek’s voice.

            “I think your pod is calibrated strangely.” Stiles sighed, sitting in a chair next to where Irma was lounging. “I could have sworn I heard someone’s voice after the memory ended. Someone who has probably been dead for over a century.” Stiles hummed. It still hurt to think of Derek being dead, but it wasn’t a fresh wound anymore. It just…was.”

            “Well, I don’t know about the pod, but there was a new stranger in here just a moment ago.” Irma blew smoke from her cigarette. “He went back to talk to Amari about finding out about some things that have happened since the war. Sounded like a total kook. Didn’t sound like he knew his head from his toes.”

            Stiles shrugged tiredly. He figured if the guy was really looking for information, he might as well help. After all, what was better than an eyewitness account?

            He made his way back to Amari’s office and froze in the doorway when he saw the back of a vault-tech jumpsuit. A jumpsuit from Vault 111. The same vault that Derek had been in. The man had jet black hair, broad shoulders, and something in Stiles broke. God was cruel. He had stayed in the living hell called the Commonwealth for 210 years just to experience this cosmic joke? He had figured that Derek would have moved on after him, may have even hoped that Derek would move on and find someone else to love. He just hadn’t expected that he’d ever have to see someone who looked…exactly like Derek. Stiles stayed in the background, avoiding the stranger’s detection, but still. It was uncanny the resemblance. It was almost as if Derek was standing right in front of him. It didn’t even look like there was influence from another human being.

The stranger was asking Amari something about Goodneighbor’s founding and the mayor, John Hancock, when Stiles finally decided to make himself known.

“Goodneighbor wasn’t just the criminals from Diamond City you know. It was the people who weren’t wanted there either. Synths in hiding and ghouls too.” Stiles sighed as Amari was telling him about how Goodneighbor was founded. “You might get some better information on the founding of Goodneighbor from John. He’s in the Old Statehouse.”

The stranger turned to look at Stiles and his eyes widened.

            Stiles felt his stomach twist. Oh he was so screwed. If the year weren’t 2287, he’d have sworn that Derek Hale was standing right in front of him. He took a deep breath, attempting to untie the knot that had formed in his stomach.

            “What? Haven’t you ever seen a ghoul before? I know I’m not exactly a male model, but I think that I’m in pretty good shape, considering my age. I’m a pre-war ghoul you know.” Stiles rolled his eyes as he leaned against the entryway.

            “Stiles?” The stranger asked quietly, his voice shaking.\

            Stiles froze, eyes widening. “Hey Amari, I think you need to recalibrate your pods. I’m hearing things I shouldn’t be.” He said softly, before turning and running from the room.

            Stiles sprinted to the Old Statehouse. It served as a kind of shelter for drifters, and he had just mentioned it to Derek, so he figured the pre-war survivor wouldn’t check there. He didn’t count on Derek coming to ask John Hancock where he might have gone. Stiles turned away from the door on his dirty mattress and faced the wall, heart pounding.

            On the one hand, he wanted Derek to find him. He wanted to rejoice in finding his lover from two centuries ago, and he wanted to think that everything would go back to normal. Or as normal as it could get in a radioactive wasteland anyways. Stiles felt all those wishes tugging at his resolve, but his brain kept his face shielded from the view of the door as he pretended to sleep. Derek was alive. Stiles had no idea how, but he knew that it wasn’t by means of ghoulification. Derek still looked as attractive as the day the bombs had fallen. Here Stiles was, considering himself well off because he still had 3/4ths of a nose. Derek was by no means a shallow man, but it wasn’t just Stiles’ appearance that had changed. His voice was gruff, sounding like he had been smoking a pack a day for the last two centuries. His hands shook so badly that he could barely tie the laces on his boots. He cursed like a sailor, and worst of all, his heart had hardened. That tends to happen when you’re stuck in an unforgiving wasteland with a society that thinks of you as less than human. Derek was better off starting over without him. He could still get married, have children, build a little farm where he could fight off supermutants to protect is crops. Derek would take to it like a duck to water. He didn’t need Stiles.

            “Stiles.” A hand fell on Stiles shoulder. This time it was a statement, not a question.

            “Who’s Stiles. Never heard of him.” Stiles grunted back, still looking away from Derek.

            “I think the fact that you know that Stiles is a name and not some kind of drug or something means that you do know who Stiles is.” Derek said lightly.

            Stiles gave in and rolled over, his eyes watering.

            “That vault suit is atrocious, I hope you know.” He grumbled, arms still crossed.

            “210 years, and you’re still judging my sense of fashion.” Derek laughed quietly.

            “What sense of fashion?” Stiles asked quietly, his chest tightening at how easily they still fit together.

            “I…I thought you would be dead.” Derek admitted quietly.

            “Good. Keep believing that.” Stiles grunted, rolling over.

            “Stiles!” Derek was frowning with a concerned expression on his face. Stiles could hear it in his voice. “Are—are you mad at me?” He asked.

            “What?” Stiles rolled over once more. “For what? Did you get married in that vault or something like that?” He asked.

            “No, I was only conscious for a couple minutes in that vault, before I was cryogenically frozen.” Derek explained. “But that’s not the point…I meant, are you mad at me because this happened to you?” He elaborated. “I mean, I should have fought harder to get you into the vault, or I should have stayed with you. I…you’ve been here in Boston for 210 years all alone, and it’s all my fault.” Derek lowered his head into his hands.

            “Derek, seriously?” Stiles asked, laying a scarred hand on his lover’s cheek. “I was the one who told you to go ahead. How could I be mad at you for that. I’m just glad that you were kept safe Derek. That’s all I wanted.”

            “Stiles. I missed you. I left the vault two weeks ago, and everyone was dead. I was the only survivor. I step outside and everything is gone. All the houses are completely trashed, there are no people, giant insects and something called a Deathclaw are trying to kill me…”

            “Woah, wait. You fought a deathclaw?” Stiles asked, pulling Derek’s hands down away from his face.

            “Okay, so Deathclaw catches your interest, but cryogenically frozen for two centuries doesn’t, good to know.” Derek said dryly. “Yeah. Some guy named Preston Garvey helped me find this suit of armor, and I shot the hell out of it.”

            “No shit.” Stiles rolled onto his back. “So…what’s your plan?” Stiles asked, looking straight up, avoiding eye contact with Derek.

            “What do you mean what’s my plan? I was trying to find what happened to you, to gain some kind of closure, and instead I found you. My plan is whatever your plan is.”

            Stiles’ eyes finally flitted to Dereks as his jaw dropped, Derek’s declaration having left him speechless. After a moment, he closed his mouth. “Derek…I’m…trust me. You’ve got a lot of better options than sticking with me. There are so many places where I’m not even allowed in just because I’m a ghoul. You should find a new plan.”

            “Oh, so that’s it then?” Derek scowled. “I find you 210 years in the future, and you’re just done with me. Fuck that Stiles. I know that you’re more experienced with these times, and you might think I’m better off without you, but I don’t care. I said I loved you before the bombs fell, and I’ll say it again now, because I do. I fucking love you Stiles.” Derek seethed. “I guess you’ve moved on from me, but I’m not done with you Stiles. It feels like 2077 was yesterday to me. I’m not done with you.”

            Stiles was left gaping at Derek.

            “Derek. I only have 3/4ths of a nose. I have no hair, and open blisters all over my body. You should finish with me quick.” He scoffed.

            “I don’t care if you don’t have a nose. Hell, I don’t care if you don’t have skin Stiles. I love you.” Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles, surprising him.

            Stiles’ limbs flailed wildly in his surprise and his eyes flew open so far, he thought he was going to end up without eyelids.

            “Derek, I’m fucking gross!” Stiles yelled.

            “I don’t give a damn.” Derek smiled, melting Stiles’ heart. The teeth always did it. They were better than puppy dog eyes any day.

            “Derek…” Stiles’ eyes watered before he broke into tears. “I missed you.” Stiles mumbled as he brought Derek into a hug, pressing his face into Derek’s neck. “I’m sorry that I’m not cute anymore. I’m pretty gross and people will think you’re gross for being with me.” Stiles hiccupped against Derek’s skin.

            “I couldn’t care less. I’m just glad I found you.”

**Author's Note:**

> In other news, I'm planning on expanding more on the idea of Sterek in the Fallout Universe, and I made a tumblr specifically for my sterek fics! You can now find me at http://sterekrunningerrands.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> As always, any comments or constructive criticisms are appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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